


Remember Me

by flightlessxbird



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Brain Damage, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessxbird/pseuds/flightlessxbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set after season three: Ian is discharged from the army for his disability and decides to come home. Unfortunately, he discovers that Mickey had an accident during Ian's absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homesick

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Special Needs by Placebo and this just kind of happened oops.

                Ian knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to fall in love with Mickey, Mickey was supposed to be his, he was supposed to go to West Point, he was supposed to be an officer, and he was supposed to have a happy fucking life with Mickey and maybe someday be extra queer and get married and adopt a kid. Terry was not supposed to catch Ian fucking his son. Mickey was not supposed to get raped, and forced to marry the woman that was to correct Mickey because she got pregnant. And most of all, Ian was not supposed to react so horribly to it by running off and enlisting. A part of him knew that it was because of his disorder beginning to take root and clouding his mind, but there were nights he lied awake wondering how Mickey was doing without him. Was he happier? Depressed? Just how many girls had he fucked so he could forget about Ian, or how many girls had he fucked in celebration that the redheaded anchor was gone? Did he still love Ian, or did he hate him more than ever?

                After Ian was out on disability discharge, he didn’t think he could go home. Not when he was thinking so clearly about what they all must be thinking. Especially Mickey. Mickey was the only one he told about him enlisting, so he must think Ian was an idiot. But he’d been doing well in the last few weeks now that his meds had been properly adjusted, and he missed his family like hell. He missed birthdays, holidays, hugs, kisses. He tried not to think about the fact that Liam would be five, and that Mickey’s kid would be almost two. Mickey and Svetlana’s kid.

                Ian felt another pang of sadness in his chest as he stepped off the train when he thought of Mickey and Svetlana, both of them forced to live a life together, a life they never wanted in the first place. He would go see Mickey, he swore to himself that he would. But he needed to see his family first. He found walking down the snow covered sidewalk of his home neighborhood to be a little unnerving, but the closer he got to that all too familiar front porch, the more his homesickness bubbled up until he was running up to the front door. He knocked on it several times, but there was no answer. Maybe no one was home. Like hell he was going to stay outside in the cold though, so he rummaged through his bag until he found his old key and prayed Fiona hadn’t changed the locks after another shitty break up. Thankfully, the door unlocked with ease.

                As soon as Ian stepped inside, he was relieved to find that not much had changed. The trusty old Gallagher bat was still hung on its hook by the stairs, Liam’s toys still littered the floor, and it still smelled like cigarettes and home-cooked meals. The house was dark, though. And empty. He looked around until he spotted someone lying asleep on the couch and was delighted to see that it was Debbie. He moved around the couch and knelt down to wake her up, but stopped short when he saw the state she was in. She was clutching a sleeping Liam to her chest, and her makeup was running all over her eyes so she looked like a panda or something. The last time he texted Fiona to let her know he was okay, she’d texted back with a picture of the family saying they missed him. In the picture, Debbie looked so grown up. She was wearing nice, neat makeup and she was wearing a sundress and a very fashionable looking jacket, but she looked completely different now. Her hair was up in a bun that was falling apart, she was wearing sweatpants and one of Ian’s old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirts, and she looked absolutely exhausted.

                Ian frowned and reached out to shake her shoulder gently, and she awoke with a start. When she sat up and saw Ian she looked as though she was torn between hugging him and punching him. Thankfully she chose the former and wrapped her arms tight around Ian’s neck.

                “You’re here? You’re really here!?”

                “Yeah Debs, I’m really here,” Ian chuckled, petting his sister’s hair. They hugged it out for a while, before Liam woke up. He wiggled in between them to steal Ian’s hug, his little arms clinging tightly around Ian’s neck and he chanted the redhead’s name excitedly. Debbie was grinning, until she gasped and shot up from the couch to run to the kitchen. Ian held Liam as he stood up and followed Debbie, only for her to rush back out carrying a cake.

                “We’re late!” She shoved the cake into Ian’s hands and took off up the stairs. Ian stood in the middle of the living room perplexed, balancing his baby brother in one arm and a cake in the other. He looked down at the writing on the cake which only did more to confuse him. “Happy Birthday Yevgeny.” Who the fuck was Yevgeny, and what the fuck kind of name is that anyway? There were two unlit candles sticking up out of the cake and Ian shrugged, thinking maybe it was Liam’s friend’s birthday.

                He didn’t think on it much more before Debbie came bounding down the stairs once again, her faced washed and wearing fresh clothes.

                “We’re late!” She repeated, and gestured for Ian to follow her. Ian let Liam down so he could hold the cake more securely. Debbie took hold of Liam’s hand and they all headed out the door.

                Ian had prepared himself mentally to answer every possible question his family could have about his disappearance, but Debbie asked none. She answered all his questions about the family, about school, about her friends, but she never asked him about the last two years. If Ian didn’t know any better, he’d have thought she already knew he enlisted. But only Mickey knew that. Come to think of Mickey, Ian’s stomach knotted with the realization that they were getting awfully close to the Milkovich home. He knew this route by heart and every step was like another pound of dread sitting on his chest.

                “Debbie, where are we going?” Ian asked, his voice cracking. Debbie was quiet for a moment until they made it to the front steps of a familiar house.

                “Yevgeny’s house,” she answered with a shrug and knocked on the door. It was then that Ian figured out what kind of name Yevgeny was. A Russian one. Ian felt nauseated and if it weren’t for the fact that he knew how hard Debbie worked when she baked cakes, he would have dropped it and ran the second the door opened. To Ian’s surprise, Veronica opened the door. She squealed when she saw Ian, and did her best to hug him and kiss his cheek without messing up the cake. Her smile turned almost sad as she stepped back and took a good look at Ian.

                “Come inside,” she finally said with much hesitation, “it’s fuckin’ freezing out here.”

                Debbie and Liam walked inside, but when Ian stepped forward Veronica put a hand on his chest to stop him. She looked as exhausted as Debbie.

                “Don’t freak out when you see Mickey. If you freak out, he’ll get upset and we can’t have that right now while he’s getting better.” She took her hand off his chest and stepped toward the door before looking back at him once more. “Also, don’t stare. He gets anxious if you stare.” Ian frowned, but nodded. _He_ was the one who was upset, who was anxious. He had every right to freak out. He kept his mouth shut, however, and decided to just do as Veronica told him.

                But when Ian stepped inside the house, it took all of his self-control to not drop the cake and run away with one thought weighing heavily on his very _existence_.

                _This wasn't how it was supposed to happen._


	2. Woke Up on the Wrong Side of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week before Ian comes home, Mickey comes across some disturbing news in the paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit gory so be careful reading my lovelies <3

 

** One week earlier **

               

                No. No no no fucking no this couldn’t be happening. Mickey felt like his world was actually crashing down. He envisioned the ceiling caving in to reveal black swirling clouds and tornadoes destroying and enveloping everything in their wake. He could have sworn he felt the ground shake with oncoming vicious earthquakes that would split open his floor and send him spiraling into Hell. Fuck it, Hell would be a vacation from the torment he was feeling now.

                “Mickey?” He barely registered the gentle voice at his side. It was like a distant call, and he couldn’t bring himself to respond to it. He felt a hand on his arm but it did no good. All he could see now were three words in the newspaper. His mind seemed to highlight them against his will.

**Afghanistan**

**dead**

**Gallagher**

                The newspaper shook in Mickey’s hands. No wait, it was _his hands_ that were shaking.

                “Mickey, it’s a common last name. It doesn’t mean it’s—“ The redheaded Gallagher girl that reminded Mickey too much of her brother was cut short when Mickey dropped the newspaper and let out a choked, dry sob. He remembered the last time she came to ask Mandy about Ian and Mickey had opened the door instead, how he blurted out that Ian had enlisted in the army. She asked why Ian would tell him and not his family, and he replied with a simple yet bitter “we used to hang out.” And every week since then, she would come by to “just say hi” but of course her visits always ended with “have you heard from Ian?” But she had obviously come by at a bad time this week, for Mickey had been pacing around with his newspaper, frantically scanning through a list of soldiers that were reported as killed in action. And sure enough there it was, third name down the second row. Gallagher.

                Debbie’s consolations went unheard, because Mickey was already halfway out the door. He didn’t even bother grabbing his coat on the way out. With his car keys secured in his tightly balled up fist, he ran out so fast that he almost slipped on the snowy street. By the time his car started up and he drove off down the road, he had only a vague sense of where he was going. He only knew he had to get to the nearest military base and demand to know the first name of the dead Gallagher. He knew in the back of his mind that it was a terrible idea. He couldn’t very well just barge into an army base throwing orders around, they probably wouldn’t even know that information. But he had to try anyway.

                Yevgeny was crying when he left. Lucky little bastard. Mickey wished he could just cry like that whenever he wanted. He would do anything to be able to drop everything in life and curl up and sob and scream, and someone would come console and love and hold him. But he lost that chance when he pushed Ian away. Ian could have been that one Mickey cried in front of, that held Mickey through his pain. But Ian was gone now, and possibly dead. This was exactly why he was such a little bitch about Ian leaving. He knew Ian would leave him someday, there was never any question about that. Good things always left Mickey. But he left to enlist in the _army_ where this exact shit was bound to happen. He hated spending everyday not knowing if Ian was alive or dead in some foreign country. Mickey had seen plenty of war films in his day, none of which were being at all kind to his vivid imagination. All he could see in the street before him were images of Ian lying lifeless on a battlefield, his stomach torn open from shrapnel and bullet wounds and his eyes glassy, a knife sticking out of his chest where only the hilt was exposed.

                He couldn’t see it anymore, he couldn’t afford to see it anymore or he’d start crying like the day Ian left and he wasn’t ready to revisit that. So he shut his eyes as tight as he could, leaving his eyes and cheeks sore. But the images still came in full force, like a horror film projected on the inside of his eyelids. He could practically feel his drinks from the night before roiling in his stomach. His face began to hurt terribly from shutting his eyes so tight and the images had him on the verge of screaming, so he had to open his eyes. Colors flooded his vision from the pressure of closing his eyes so tightly, and it was a welcomed reprieve from his horrific visions. The colors vanished just as fast as they came, and the street came into view once more.

                The semi-trailer truck rushing straight toward him also came into view.


	3. Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds out about Mickey's accident, but the damage is far more than just cuts and bruises.

                Ian knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just Mickey’s bandages and bruises. It was obvious his body itself had taken a beating, but there was something worse hanging in the air that seemed to tighten around Ian’s throat like a noose. Maybe it was the overall somber attitude that lingered on everyone in the room. Maybe it was Mandy sitting off in the corner of the room, chewing on her nails and drinking a beer. Maybe it was Debbie who sat on the sofa beside Mickey, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair as she spoke to him softly and… simply. Too simply. As if he were no older than the bright eyed baby boy sitting in his lap, who Ian assumed was Yevgeny. But Ian came to the conclusion that it was none of those things. It was the way Mickey held himself. His legs were resting limply on the coffee table, and his arms were crossed over his stomach with intense discomfort. He kept shying away from Debbie’s touches. Ian thought he looked like a Chihuahua overwhelmed by the attention of too many strangers. And most especially, his eyes were dull. Mickey always had a fire in his eyes no matter what and Ian always found comfort in it. But they were cloudy and full of confusion. Yevgeny was trying to get his father’s attention, cooing and whining in his lap, but Mickey wasn’t looking at him. Or anyone, for that matter. His eyes were fixed on the stereo in the corner of the room. It wasn’t playing anything.

                “Mickey, Ian’s here.” Ian watched for any reaction from Mickey, hoping for a good one. Praying for any kind of reaction. But there was nothing. Not a spark of recognition in his eyes, not a glance in Ian’s direction. Debbie frowned and stood up, ruffling Mickey’s disheveled hair once more and heading to the kitchen, cocking her head for Ian to follow.

                “What the fuck is wrong with him?” Ian whispered hoarsely. He put the cake in the fridge so it would stay fresh while Debbie wrung her hands and struggled for the right words.

                “He thought you were dead…” She started, leaning in close to Ian so they could be quiet. “There was a list of soldiers that were killed in action, and the name Gallagher was on it. He freaked out and ran out the door before I could talk any sense into him. He had a panic attack on the road and ended up in the left lane and… collided with a semi-truck.”

                “Shit,” Ian breathed, turning to look at Mickey who was now rocking gently where he sat.

                “Why is he… like that?”

                “… The doctor said there was a lot of damage.” Debbie said softly. She wouldn’t look at Ian, which only worried him more. “Most of the damage was to his brain. Especially the temporal lobe.”

                Ian stepped back for a moment, trying to remember his years in high school when he knew just what the fuck the temporal lobe did. But Mickey turned around where he sat, meeting Ian’s gaze momentarily before his eyes darted away. He looked like he desperately wanted to say something but he just couldn’t. And Ian remembered. Language. Memory. Emotion. Ian suddenly felt that noose tighten until his throat was closing up and he couldn’t breathe. Mickey obviously caught onto Ian’s panic, because he let out a low whine and turned back around to resume his slow rocking.

                “Is… Is he gonna get better?”

                Debbie shrugged sadly. “They don’t know. Right now he has a lot of trouble talking, and mostly repeats the same words. He got lucky, Veronica knows some people that will take him as a pro bono case, so he’ll have physical and speech therapy. We need to find him a neuropsychologist too. He should get _better_.  There’s just no telling if he’ll ever be the same as before.”

                “I know a psychiatrist. I’ll talk to her about Mickey, see if she knows anyone.”

                Another low whine from the living room interrupted their conversation, and Debbie pushed past Ian to sit beside Mickey on the couch. She whispered lowly to him, but he only seemed to be getting more riled up. Finally, she turned to Ian.

                “Can you take him to his room?” All eyes were on Ian now, except Mickey and Mandy’s.

                “I guess,” he shrugged and tried to ignore the ever growing knots in his stomach. Debbie took Yevgeny off Mickey’s lap and handed him to Svetlana who stood by the television. She then helped Mickey, who groaned in pain, up off the couch. She started to walk him toward Ian but he shuffled away, towards that stereo he’d been staring at. Svetlana scoffed in annoyance as she bounced the birthday boy in her arms and Mickey came back to Debbie’s side clutching a CD to his chest. Debbie tried to pat his back but he shrugged her off and starting walking toward his room. Debbie sighed and turned back to Yevgeny with a big, fake smile. She was obviously intent on giving the kid a good birthday despite the… unfortunate circumstances.

                Ian followed Mickey into his room and found him sitting curled up in the middle of his bed, which as Ian stepped closer he saw that it was actually two beds pushed together. He felt a pain in his chest as he wondered if Mickey and Svetlana slept together. Then that pain turned into guilt as he realized this wasn’t the time to get jealous. Not with the state that Mickey was in. He had no right to be jealous, or hurt. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to stay with Mickey or go back to the party, but he figured Mickey probably wouldn’t even notice if he left. He was back to rocking back and forth where he sat, staring off at the wall. So Ian turned on his heels, heading back out into the hallway.

                “Don’t.”

                Don’t. Ian thought for a moment that he hallucinated the weakly spoken word. But sure enough as he turned around he saw Mickey on all fours at the edge of the bed, reaching out to him and mouthing the word over and over. He still wouldn’t make eye contact with Ian. Ian stepped back into the room and shut the door behind him. He moved to sit beside Mickey who relaxed back into the middle of the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. There was less than a foot of space between the boys, and it took every bit of Ian’s self-control not to close that space. Mickey looked so fragile and scared, so un-Mickey, and Ian just wanted to kiss him and hold him and just fucking fix him. When the old Mickey was scared, he’d light up a cigarette and tell Ian to just get in him already. This Mickey was unraveled, confused. His left hand twitched every so often and he had several other facial tics.

                “Mickey?” Ian spoke soft and slow, the way Debbie had earlier. Mickey reacted marginally to his name being called.

                “Mickey do you remember me? I’m Ian.”

                “Ian,” Mickey repeated in a whisper. He looked at Ian finally with that same frustrated look from before like he was trying to say something. His mouth opened as he struggled for words, but all that came out was, once again, “Don’t.” Ian winced at it unconsciously. Debbie had said that he mostly repeats words over and over. It wasn’t hard to figure out why he was repeating that word in particular. Ian’s eyes fell to the CD that Mickey had been clutching. It was blank. No image, no label, not even a title written in Sharpie. So why was he holding it like it was the Holy Grail?

                “What’s that?” Ian asked softly, pointing to the CD. Mickey stared at him for a moment, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Then his face fell and he looked down at the bed sheets.

                “Don’t…” Mickey closed his eyes tight, his lips twitching for a moment. “Kn-know. Don’t know.” His fists clenched and he stammered, trying to get the words out correctly. “Just know… it’s im… important?” Mickey relaxed and opened his eyes. He panted slightly, as if it were a five mile run rather than five words. Ian smiled and held his hand out.

                “Can I play it?” He cocked his head toward the CD player on Mickey’s nightstand. Mickey flinched away from Ian’s hand, staring down at it cautiously. He gave a curt nod but he didn’t give Ian the CD. Instead he reached over for the player himself, almost knocking it off the nightstand when his fingers twitched. He brought the player close to his chest and put the disc inside. He put one of the earbuds in his left ear and shyly stuck the other in Ian’s right ear.

                Mickey may have pressed play, but Ian fucking _stopped_. He stopped. He stopped breathing, stopped thinking, he was pretty sure his heart even stopped beating for a moment. The blood in his veins felt frozen and his mouth went dry.

                It was the CD that Ian had burned for Mickey just before his family got picked up by family services. He knew because he spent hours toiling over the perfect songs to put on it, songs he thought (or rather prayed) that Mickey would like. The first song was Killing in the Name of by Rage Against the Machine. The guitar was loud in Ian’s ear, but the volume didn’t seem to bother Mickey. He looked much more relaxed now that the music was playing. His eyes were closed, his eyelids fluttering as if he were asleep and dreaming. His lips mouthed select words from the lyrics. Ian frowned and slowly laid his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Thankfully, Mickey didn’t move away.

                “I’m so fucking sorry,” Ian said with a shaky sigh, his eyes watering. His stomach felt cold and empty, and his throat was still closing up.

                “Don’t.”


	4. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian wants to stay and take care of Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update anything, I've been on vacation on an island and although many say that the ocean inspires writers, it doesn't do that for me. My mind goes blank and I relax too much to be inspired to write.

                Mickey fell asleep by the end of the CD. The day must have been too eventful for him because he was out like a light. Ian sat with him for a while, tracing his fingers along Mickey’s jaw. Two years ago Mickey would have woken up and slapped Ian’s hands away. But when Mickey did stir he only whimpered and rolled over so he wasn’t lying on his bandaged arm. When Ian stood and headed back into the living room, Yevgeny’s birthday party was at its height. The young boy was standing up on one of the dining chairs, his eyes shut tight in thought of the perfect birthday wish as everyone was singing happy birthday. When he heard the door to Mickey’s bedroom open, his eyes flew open and he crawled down off the chair, scrambling over and hugging Ian’s legs shouting, “Daddy!”

                But when Yevgeny looked up and saw that it was a redheaded stranger rather than his father, he quickly let go and backed away, rubbing at his eyes.

                “Sorry…” He mumbled. Svetlana quickly scooped him up and carried him back to the chair he was standing on. Ian hadn’t even noticed that the singing died down, he was too busy staring at the startling resemblance between the boy and Mickey. His blue eyes were incredibly familiar.

                “Come, Yevgeny, finish blowing out candles,” Svetlana said sweetly, kissing the top of her son’s head as the singing started up again. Ian closed Mickey’s door behind him and leaned back against it to watch as Yevgeny blew out the candles enthusiastically. He clapped and giggled as the two little flames went out.

                Then he shoved his little fist into the cake.

He pulled out a chunk from the middle of the cake and shoved it into his mouth. Everyone went silent for a moment, but Ian burst out into sputtering laughter. Everyone turned to him, and Svetlana shot him a glare but Ian couldn’t stop laughing. Yevgeny was spurred on by Ian’s cackling, giggling and putting his hand back into the cake for another handful. He crawled back off the chair, cake crumbs falling to the floor as he ran over to Ian. He held up his tiny fist to Ian, offering him the chunk of cake. Ian only laughed harder, sliding down against the door to the floor. He clutched his stomach and Yevgeny crawled into his lap.

                “Here!” He opened his fist and pushed the cake into Ian’s face, smearing it over his lips as his laughter descended into almost silent squeaks and his abs began to feel sore. Yevgeny was laughing too. He wore a big toothy, icing-covered grin. After a second of their joined laughter, Mandy broke out into a fit of tittering and the familiar, somehow comforting sound of Veronica’s guffaws filled the air. Soon the whole room was laughing and it felt like a momentary relief had settled over the somber house. Even Svetlana was chuckling softly.

                The party died down after that. Yevgeny’s friends were taken home and Ian sat with Mandy and Debbie on the couch to catch up, Liam and Yevgeny running around them playing tag. Veronica disappeared into Mickey’s room to change his bandages and check up on him. When she came out, Ian stood up and leaned in close to her.

                “Is he alright?”

                Veronica nodded slowly. “His injuries aren’t too bad. He has an appointment with a speech therapist tomorrow morning, so hopefully he’ll get… better.” Ian frowned at her hesitation.

                “You don’t think he’s gonna recover?”

                “Honey I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll recover, just not fully.”

                “But you don’t know that for sure?”

                “No, but—“

                “Then he could have a full recovery,” Ian said, raising his voice. Veronica put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a warning look to quiet down.

                “He could. But we can’t get our hopes up. Not about this. We know he’ll get better. We just don’t know how much better.” She walked past Ian and grabbed her coat nodding her goodbyes to Svetlana who nodded back. The relief that followed Ian’s earlier laughing fit was quickly being sapped from his body, leaving him lightheaded and breathless. Despite his desire to never have to speak to Svetlana again, he found himself planting his feet before her.

                “I wanna stay and take care of Mick.” The rest of the room quieted down, except for Liam and Yevgeny who continued to play tag.

                “It is your fault he must be taken care of,” Svetlana deadpanned. Her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

                “Lana,” Mandy started, but Svetlana held a hand up.

                “Orange boy can stay, take care of Mickey. But if he leaves again, I find him myself and slice his throat with dull kitchen knife. _Ponimaete?”_ She hissed, staring up at Ian with a look that could _definitely_ kill.

                “ _Ponimaete_ , _”_ Ian repeated, understanding that Svetlana could and probably would make good on her promise. But he wasn’t going to leave. Not this time.

                “Good. You sleep on couch. And you help around house.”

                Ian nodded slowly and he felt a pull on his pant leg.

                “Tag, you’re it,” Yevgeny babbled, turning to run away from Ian. It was more of a toddler’s waddle than a run. Ian smiled tiredly and turned to chase after the boy, but Svetlana stopped them both.

                “ _Davay_ Yevgeny, time for bed.” Her voice returned to that gentle tone she used with the child and she picked him up, staring daggers at Ian before hauling her son to bed in a room down the hall. Away from Mickey’s room. Ian couldn’t deny that he was relieved to know that Mickey and Svetlana didn’t sleep together, but he pushed those selfish thoughts away. Nothing mattered now except for Mickey getting better. Before Mandy had gone to bed, she handed Ian a scribbled schedule that was stuck to the fridge. Apparently the doctors had said that keeping him in a routine was very important right now and that too much stress will only make it harder for him to recover. The house became dark and quiet. Ian remembered the one night he spent at the Milkovich home. It wasn’t like this. Nobody was home but Ian and Mickey and it still wasn’t as silent as it was now. Ian couldn’t sleep so he turned on the flashlight on his phone and studied the list, whispering every event and time under his breath.

**8:00 AM - Wake up, help him shower and get dressed.**

**9:00 AM – Eat breakfast (banana pancakes + a lot of syrup).**

**10:00 AM – Let him relax (Speech therapy on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays).**

**12:00 PM – Take him for a walk (not with the leash again Tony, that’s not fucking funny).**

**1:00 PM – Eat lunch and change bandages.**

**2:00 PM – Nap.**

**2:30 PM – Snack and relax again.**

**4:00 PM – Physical therapy.**

**5:00 PM – Dinner.**

**6:00 PM – Talk to him and listen to his CD until bedtime.**

**8:00 PM – Bedtime.**

Ian had been repeating the list to himself from memory when he heard something fall in Mickey’s room, then a stifled whimper. Ian shot up from the couch and hurried into Mickey’s room. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness before he stepped inside and saw Mickey leaning over the edge of the bed and reaching out with his injured arm, soft whines of pain and desperation escaping his throat. Ian saw what he was reaching for and sighed. The CD player.

                “Mickey, you were supposed to be in bed an hour ago,” said Ian, picking up the CD player and handing it back to Mickey. Mickey made a relieved sound and stared down at the player in his hands.

                “Couldn’t…” Mickey dragged his thumb across the bottom of his lip in thought, and Ian wanted to cry at the familiar gesture. The old Mickey was still in there, _his_ Mickey.

                “I couldn’t sleep either,” Ian whispered then chuckled “Your couch still feels like it’s filled with wooden planks”. Mickey looked up at him worriedly and scooted over in bed, patting the spot beside him. Ian frowned.

                “No Mick, I can’t. Svetlana wants me to stay on the couch,” Ian moved to get up but Mickey brought his hand down on the bed several more times, hard.

                “Mickey, I _can’t,”_ Ian started to say but Mickey looked as though he were about to cry. He hit the bed insistently until Ian gave in and crawled into bed. Mickey relaxed immediately and sunk down so his head was on the pillow and he tucked the blankets around himself and Ian. They lied shoulder to shoulder. Ian could feel the warmth radiating off Mickey’s body.  Within minutes, Mickey was fumbling with the CD player, starting it over from the beginning. Like earlier, he stuck one of the earbuds in his right ear and the other in Ian’s left. Mickey sunk down a little more so his cheek was resting against Ian’s shoulder. The last thing Ian remembered before falling asleep was Mickey whispering select, simple words from the fourth song on the CD, The Lyre of Orpheus by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Ian loved it but when he made the CD, he’d been sure Mickey would hate it. Still, Mickey had played the song at least four times before he finally fell asleep as well.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be short, just a couple chapters. I've just been writing a lot lately so I can keep my mind off other things, so I'll be updating stuff more often and working hard on my Big Bang fic as always :)


End file.
